


The Way We Spy

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who, James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah Jane gets to be a Bond girl for a night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the mid-1980s. I envisage Bond as being played by Roger Moore.

Sarah Jane Smith made her escape from the reception as soon as was practical. She'd got enough material to write the required half column, though she still wondered why her editor had sent her here. Doubtless to the people of Val Verde, the fifth anniversary of the President's rise to power was of interest, but she hardly thought that interest would be shared by readers back in London.

The guards on the gate had searched her hired car thoroughly when she'd arrived at the compound, but going out she was just waved through. Reminding herself that here they drove on the right, she set out for the distant lights of the capital.

"Excuse me."

Sarah slammed on the brakes, nearly sending the car off the road into a grove of banana trees. In the driving mirror, she could see the vague outline of somebody in the back seat.

"Who are you?" she asked, hearing the fear in her own voice. "What are you doing in my car?"

"I'm afraid the situation was rather urgent," the man replied calmly.

Having now brought the car to a halt, Sarah turned the interior light on, and turned to look at the man sitting in the back. He was dressed as if to attend the reception she'd just left — and, indeed, she vaguely remembered seeing him there. He was handsome enough, if a few years older than her, but she'd found his eyes unsettling. She'd seen similar eyes in other faces, in too many worlds and times. This man was a killer.

"I suppose, whatever's happening, there isn't time to explain?" she asked.

"Best if you keep driving," the man replied. "Not too fast. And try not to look alarmed." He reached into his dinner jacket, and produced, by way of encouragement, a small pistol. "If you don't mind, of course."

Sarah turned the light off, refastened her seatbelt, and put the car into gear. "What if I did mind?" she asked.

"Then I might have to do something we would both regret, Mrs..."

"Miss. Smith. Sarah Jane Smith." Sarah accelerated gently, trying not to think about the gun aimed at her back.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Smith. My name is Bond." The man paused briefly, as orange-red light flared somewhere behind them. There was a distant, ominous rumble, as of a building collapsing. "James Bond."

*

According to the car clock, something like ninety minutes had passed since Sarah had left the party. Her passenger had divided his time between directing her to drive in this or that direction, and listening to a slim radio, disguised as a pen, which picked up the police wavebands. From the fragments which Sarah had overheard, she got the impression that the police, not to mention the Presidential Guard, were devoting all their efforts to tracking them down, as two suspects fleeing a suspicious explosion. She also suspected that if the forces of law and order did catch up with her car, they'd shoot first and ask questions later, if at all.

"If I asked what was going on, would I get an answer?" Sarah had asked her passenger, in a moment when the radio was silent.

"If you asked President Velasquez, he'd tell you it was a terrorist incident," Bond had replied calmly. "If you asked the local Marxists, they'd say it was an unprovoked government attack."

"I'm asking you."

Bond had shrugged. "The CIA have been supporting Velasquez with weapons for a while now. One consignment went astray. I happened across some of them, and had to deal with them quickly." He'd pointed at a winding country road. "This way."

Sarah's recollection was interrupted as something loomed up in the road in front of them. She braked sharply again, swerved, and narrowly avoided hitting a cow that seemed to be making its own nocturnal explorations.

"Sorry," she said. "Woolgathering. Look, we can't just drive around all night."

"I don't think we will," Bond said. He wasn't looking at her, Sarah realised; he was peering out of the back window. Abruptly, he turned back. "Move over: I need to drive."

"Happy to," Sarah said, clambering over the gearstick to the passenger seat. As she did so, she heard what Bond must already have noticed: the sound of helicopter rotors approaching. The white beams of searchlights were gliding across the fields and plantations, closing in on where they were.

"Hold tight," Bond said. He slipped a bulky pair of dark glasses on, switched the car's headlamps off, and floored the accelerator. The hired car plunged forward into the night.

*

The car rounded another corner, its tyres squealing and its suspension groaning under the strain. If Sarah ever got to return it to the hire company — which seemed, at the moment, a remote possibility — she strongly suspected that she wouldn't get her deposit back. They'd long since shaken off the helicopter, and so far none of their pursuers had picked up the scent again. Sarah wondered how far they'd driven, and where.

Suddenly, a blinding light shone on the car from ahead. Instinctively, Sarah held up a hand to shield her eyes from the glare. Bond didn't flinch, but deliberately swerved; the car plunged down a steep bank. He was still wrestling with the wheel, but the terrain and the sheer density of trees was too much. With a scream of twisted metal, a shattering of glass, and a sharp, sudden impact, the car came to rest at the foot of a tree. Flames flickered around the crumpled bonnet.

Sarah tried to open her door and found it jammed. To her left, Bond kicked the door on his side, which fell completely clear of the car, and half-lifted, half-dragged her out. The air outside was still humid, but cooler than Sarah had expected, and somewhere in the distance she could hear waves breaking.

Unhurriedly, Bond crept through the dense vegetation, with Sarah close behind, until he was some way away from the car and higher up the slope. By then, the car was well ablaze.

"All right," Sarah whispered. "Where are we?" She nearly added "Doctor" out of habit, but remembered to say "Mr Bond" instead. "Because we obviously didn't come here by accident."

"Call me James, please." Bond delved in his pocket, producing a torn delivery note. "The stolen weapons were being delivered under cover of agricultural supplies. And this is supposed to be where they were being sent."

"All right — James. What do we do now?"

"I'm going to investigate. You wait here until I come back."

He disappeared into the undergrowth. Sarah looked down the slope at the blazing car. Someone must be coming to investigate it; if so, it would not be a good idea to be found near it.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "The Doctor used to tell me that all the time. I never used to pay any attention to him, either."

She headed up the slope to do some investigating of her own.


	2. Chapter 2

Between the moonlight and the electric lights ahead, Sarah had a fair idea of the lie of the land. She was on a rocky peninsula, which protruded into the estuary of some unknown river. Ahead, at the highest and furthest point of the peninsula, some kind of military base had been built. It was the battery of lights over its main gate that had suddenly blazed into life at the approach of Bond and Sarah in the hired car.

Despite the late hour, it was clear that the men in the base were not asleep. While Sarah had been watching, at least two patrols had marched out, heading in the direction of the blazing remains of the car. Gunfire and shouts had been heard; maybe one of the patrols had run across Bond, or perhaps they were only firing at shadows.

Sarah crouched behind a rock, cutting the camp off from her sight, and considered her next move. Walking boldly through the main gates, dressed as she was for a formal dinner, hardly seemed to be a practical idea — but sitting around waiting to be captured didn't appeal, either. Perhaps if she made a circuit of the base, there might be an easier way in?

Trying to keep out of sight of the watch towers, she clambered over the rocks and through the bushes, continually having to stop to free her dress from the thorns lest the sound of tearing fabric bring people running. She found what she was looking for after making about a quarter of the circuit of the base. A neat hole had been cut in the wire, and two sentries lay dead nearby. Bond, she guessed, had been here before her.

She looked at her dress. The trees and rocks had not been kind to it, but it was still far too conspicuous, particularly now the moon was up. But if she took a uniform from one of those bodies, she might just pass as another soldier. Provided one of the men had been on the small side, the idea sounded workable.

A few moments later, wearing a camouflage jacket and trousers, and with a rifle slung over her shoulder to make the silhouette look right, Sarah was inside the camp. Trying to walk as if she had every right to be there, she made for the large building at the centre. Sentries stood at its main door; she gave them a wide berth, trying once more to find a less obvious way in. This time, she came upon a ladder, leading to the roof.

There were no guards on the roof, and by keeping below the parapet Sarah could feel reasonably confident of remaining unseen from ground level. Apart from large air vents sticking up here and there, the roof was empty. Bent double so she wasn't visible from ground level, Sarah crept across to the closest vent. A fan and a grille prevented birds finding their way in, but just below them was an inspection hatch secured only with wingnuts. A few twiddles later and she was inside.

Compared to other ventilation ducts Sarah had known, these seemed to be relatively commodious and straightforward to navigate, though she had to unsling her borrowed rifle and carry it in one hand. Having reached the bottom of the main shaft, she crawled along a duct with light at its far end, and quickly found herself peering through a ventilation grille into a large room.

It was clear that this place was meant as the headquarters for a military campaign. On the wall opposite Sarah, a brightly-lit map of the entire country was laid out. A cluster of red dots near the coast were probably the positions of government forces, while smaller orange dots in the mountains were, Sarah supposed, the Marxist guerrillas. At a point on the coast presumably near where they were, a third group of forces was highlighted in blue.

The remainder of the room mostly held the sort of things Sarah would have expected at a military commander's headquarters — maps, radio sets, cabinets of papers. But one other item stood out. It was smaller than Sarah had expected, but its purpose was obvious nonetheless. A blade set in a vertical frame, the whole mounted on a bloodstained scaffold. It was a guillotine.

Pacing in front of the map was a tall, burly man in fatigues, whom Sarah recognised as Colonel Montano, the Minister of the Interior. He was holding a cigar in one hand, and a two-way radio in the other. As Sarah watched, a telephone hung on the wall buzzed. Montano set his radio down, hurried over and answered it. The conversation was a short one; almost at once he hung up, and turned as a door somewhere out of Sarah's vision opened.

"Ah," he said. "Mr Bond. After our last meeting, I was not expecting to see you again. You are proving to be something of an inconvenience to me."

"That was my intention," Bond's voice replied calmly, as he was brought into view. His hands were bound behind his back.

"You have destroyed a number of valuable weapons, Mr Bond, the property of our Government. I would be quite within my rights to have you arrested for undermining the State."

"Except that the Government never knew about those weapons, did they?"

"That depends who you think 'the Government' is. Perhaps you believe that President Velasquez is still the ruler of the country?" Montano shook his head. "No, Mr Bond. I am the true power here, and in a few days the world will not be able to ignore that." He flung his cigar to one side. "But in one sense, of course, you are quite right. I shall not have you arrested; it would not do to make the good Velasquez aware of my plans."

"He already is," Bond retorted.

"An obvious bluff, Mr Bond. Carlos!"

A new figure appeared in Sarah's restricted field of vision: a huge, muscular man, dressed as a corporal.

"Mr Bond will be leaving us now, Carlos. But I think I shall retain his head as a souvenir. Carry on."

The giant saluted, and caught hold of Bond by the arm. As he did so, the ropes holding Bond's hands seemed to fall apart; with lightning speed, he ducked and twisted, punching the man in the solar plexus with his free hand, then kicking him in the kneecap. If the attack had hurt Carlos, he showed no sign of it; he merely laughed, and knocked Bond to the ground with a single blow. Bond wasn't knocked out, but before he could recover Carlos had hoisted him up onto the base of the scaffold, and shackled him to a sturdy-looking trolley.

Colonel Montano now crossed to the far side of the guillotine, and manipulated something Sarah couldn't see. With a whirr, the blade began to rise. As it did so, the trolley slowly moved forward, with deliberate, sadistic slowness. It was plain that when the blade reached its maximum height, the trolley would be directly below it. She could see Bond struggling, but his shackles held fast.

"You won't get away with this," he said.

Montano shook his head. "Oh, but I will, Mr Bond. And whatever happens, I shall cherish the memory of your expression as your head is removed from your body."

A chill shot through Sarah's body at the thought. It was clear that Bond couldn't escape in time; nor was there any sign of help on its way. If the grisly scene Montano had outlined was to be stopped, she was the one who'd have to stop it.


	3. Chapter 3

Hastily, Sarah slid her appropriated rifle forward, hoping that it was loaded. She raised it to her eye and sighted at the black cylinder at the top of the guillotine, from which the blade hung. That had to be the winch that pulled the blade up. She fumbled for the safety catch, pushed it to the 'off' position, took a deep breath, made sure the motor was dead centre in her sights, and squeezed the trigger.

In the confined, echoing duct the sound of the shot nearly deafened her, and the recoil thumped the stock into her shoulder. In an explosion of shattered plastic and copper, the guillotine motor was dashed to smithereens. The blade plunged down the runners, its cable trailing, and thudded harmlessly to a halt inches from Bond's head. Sarah had a brief impression of Colonel Montano diving for the telephone, Carlos drawing his own pistol, and Bond tearing his right hand loose from its shackle; then she ducked back into the vent, crawling frantically backwards. More gunshots boomed, and bullet holes blossomed in the metal floor where she'd just been.

Then she heard further shots, and explosions — both from the room below, and from above. A siren started wailing, and the duct Sarah was in was shaken by a massive detonation.

"So, you were not bluffing," Montano's voice said. "The Presidential Guard is here. I was a fool to underestimate you, particularly after my allies warned me. So be it; I accept—"

More shots; then another explosion overhead. The duct suddenly tipped forward, as if whatever was holding the front end up had given way, sending Sarah helplessly sliding down. The grating through which she'd looked was hanging open, and she shot through it, tearing her uniform in several places on the jagged metal. As she pulled herself clear of the duct, the rear end crashed down, too.

Sarah stumbled to her feet. In the few seconds since she'd fired the rifle, it seemed that all hell had broken loose in the headquarters building. Apart from the gaping hole in the ceiling where her ventilation duct had fallen, there were several other voids where ceiling tiles had been shaken loose. One bank of equipment was already on fire; others were smouldering. Three bodies lay on the floor. She hurried over and examined them.

It only took the briefest examination to prove that Carlos and the Colonel were dead. Protruding from the latter's pocket was a plastic-coated packet of papers, with Cyrillic writing on the outside; Sarah shoved this into her own jacket, for future consideration. As she hurried across to Bond, he raised his head. His left hand was pressing a handkerchief against his chest; blood was running over his fingers.

"He underestimated me again," he said, with a nod at Montano's body. "But I've made sure he won't be making a habit of it."

He slipped his pistol into his jacket, and tried to stand. Sarah crouched down beside him, and put his free arm around her neck. Then, trying to support him as best she could, she rose to her feet. She could feel him struggling to breathe despite his injury, each inhalation harder than the last.

"I suggest we make ourselves scarce," he said, as the building shook under a renewed series of attacks.

Sarah nodded. "Definitely!"

They staggered through the great doorway of the main building scant seconds before a blazing gallery crashed down behind them. Then, no more quickly, through smoke-filled corridors, and out into a noisome alley between ill-lit buildings. The camp was a blaze of light; several helicopters were overhead, and the air was filled with the sound of gunfire and grenades. Sarah guessed that the Presidential Guard must have arrived in force, and those of Colonel Montano's forces that hadn't fled must be making a last stand. That didn't make things any better for her, of course: if either side caught her, they'd assume she was working for the other, and probably shoot her on the spot.

Still trying to support Bond, she stumbled away from the sound of guns, descending one concrete flight of steps after another down the back of the rocky outcrop. At the foot of the last steps, a crude wooden landing stage lay beside the river. Most of the boats were gone, but a sleek speedboat remained at one end. Sarah wondered if it had been Colonel Montano's personal property, and no-one had dared to steal it. She looked around to see if there was anybody on guard, but saw nobody. The light of the fire at the summit of the promontory brightened; looking back over her shoulder, she saw the roof of the main building collapse, and flames leap up into the sky. A little way away from it, one of the helicopters was coming in for a landing; she had a brief impression of heavily-armed men poised to jump out.

With a last effort, the two made it to the boat, and more or less fell into it. Sarah fumbled with the mooring rope, finally pulling it free at the moment that the engine roared into life. She glimpsed soldiers running down the steps in pursuit, but before they could reach the landing stage, the boat accelerated away. Distant orders echoed across the water, and the sounds of gunfire. Muzzle flashes were briefly visible in the shadow of the outcrop, but no bullets seemed to come near her. She turned and scrambled forward to the cockpit of the boat, trusting now to the light of the full moon rather than the fire.

Steering one-handed, Bond guided the boat out into the bay, until the blazing remains of Colonel Montano's base were lost to view behind a headland. Then he cut the motor, letting the current carry the boat where it would, and fell back in his seat, fresh blood staining his white shirt. Sarah bent over him, tore a strip of fabric from the blouse she was still wearing under her borrowed jacket, and pressed it to his wound, but it was clear that she couldn't stop the flow of blood.

"It's no good," she said. "There's nothing I can do."

Bond managed a half-smile.

"Don't worry," he said, still coughing up blood. "Killing me isn't as easy as it—"

His voice died away. Sarah, her hand still pressed to his chest, felt his heart beat once, twice and then stop. Slowly, she let go, realising that she was adrift in the middle of a river, with a dead man for her only companion. But she'd been in stranger situations.

She delved in her borrowed jacket and extracted the papers she'd snatched from Colonel Montano's body in her flight. They were still wrapped in their plastic packet; neither water nor blood had reached them. Hopefully, if President Velasquez's forces were the ones who found her, they would provide enough evidence of Montano's treachery. If not, she'd probably end up facing a firing squad. She peered at the packet, trying to make out the writing on it, and wished the moonlight was brighter.

Her wish was answered. A golden glow was suddenly added to the silver gleam of the moon on the water. She looked around, searching for the new source of light, and found that light was infusing Bond's hand and face. Shoving the packet back into her dress, she caught hold of the closest hand. It stung her, as static electricity would, but she felt for the pulse.

 _Pulses_ , she corrected herself, feeling the familiar double heartbeat under her fingers.

Still surrounded by that glow, she watched Bond's features distort and reform themselves. He was younger now, closer to her own age, and his brown hair and eyebrows had darkened to black. His eyes snapped open, and his free hand closed over her own with an iron grip.

"You should trust me more, Sarah," he said, as the glow faded away. "Didn't I tell you I don't die easily?"

"You're a Time Lord!" Sarah replied. She was stating the obvious, she realised, but there wasn't exactly a lot else she could say.

"And how do you know about Time Lords?" Bond stared at her. He seemed to have recovered from his regeneration with exceptional speed, compared to the Doctor. Even in the moonlight, she could see his eyes fixed on her.

Sarah swallowed. "I can't tell you," she said. "I signed the Official Secrets Act."

"Did you, now? Then you'll know to keep this secret, too." The grip on her wrist relaxed, and his eyes no longer held hers. Carefully, he surveyed the area.

"All clear," he said. "I think we're safe here till morning." He put his arm around her, with a new tenderness. "The rest of the night to ourselves."

Sarah put every ounce of annoyance she could manage into her voice. "Oh, _James!_ "


End file.
